(Ir)responsible
by scrumptiousinternetllama
Summary: Hannah and Neville's relationship hits a rough patch, and Neville can't take responsibility for her irresponsibility. In fact, perhaps dropping his responsibilities altogether is the solution to his stresses.


**AN: For Grace (WolfWinks)! I know it was meant to be for April, but now that my exams are over, I'm glad I can finally give this to you :)**

 **I'm planning this to be in three parts. Here's part one!**

(Ir)responsible

Neville ran his hand over his face in frustration. After a few moments, he dared to open his eyes. It was worse than he'd originally thought.

The bill stared back at him, unblinking, daring him to break under the weight of the black ink. Shaking his head, he turned the piece of parchment around, wondering if there was a message—anything really, to tell him that the two thousand galleon sum was only a nasty joke. A tug in the pit of his stomach—instinct—told him it wasn't.

He traced the list with a trembling finger, mentally ticking off all of the purchases he was aware of and wracking his memory for the unidentified ones. He came up with nothing.

The door opened, momentarily flooding the apartment with the noise of rowdy customers downstairs, before it clicked shut, and all was quiet again save for Neville's shaky breaths—but not for long.

"Hannah?" called out Neville.

"Yes, sweetheart?" called back Hannah, popping her head around the corner of the kitchen door with a slightly disorientated smile.

"Are you drunk?" he asked carefully.

Hannah's face contorted into one of shock. "No! Why do you always ask that?"

Her exclamation sounded genuine enough, but the emotions didn't quite reach her eyes, and the small stumble that came with her outrage was evidence enough that his wife was lying.

"Don't lie to me, Hannah," he said wearily, and his fist involuntarily clenched around the bill.

"This is what I hate about you, Nev!" shouted Hannah. "You never listen to me—always so caught up in your own affairs that I don't even get a look in—"

"I never listen? I don't prioritise you?" exclaimed Neville, feeling a surge of righteous anger flood through him. "Then tell me," he yelled, punctuating every word with a shake of the parchment in his hand, "why I've been paying off your bills for the past three months? Where's this money going, Hannah? Do you have someone on the side, you're that sick of m—"

He didn't finish his question before Hannah snatched the parchment from him and tore it in half. "Troubles gone!" she said throwing the pieces at him with a slightly maniacal smile.

Neville stared at his wife in shock. "What's happened to you?" he asked.

"You did this," she hissed back.

Neville barked out a bitter laugh. "So I spent all the money? Two thousand galleons, and I spent it all—of course, I did."

"Don't play the innocent; you drove me to it," said Hannah, sticking her chin defiantly in the air, causing her to stumble again.

"How?" asked Neville, feeling slightly sick.

Hannah didn't answer, simply leaving the apartment with a slam of the door.

Neville flooed into number twelve, Grimmauld Place with tears streaking his face.

"Neville?" greeted Harry, ushering him to a seat the second he saw the tears on his friend's face.

He remained crouched in front of the other man, an expression of concern marring his usually placid face, until Neville managed to mumble a weak: "Hannah."

Harry grimaced and, standing up, squeezed Neville's shoulder. "Is it the spending again?"

"Two thousand galleons, Harry."

Neville sounded utterly resigned, and Harry didn't know what to do other than to move the pair of them into the kitchen, and begin brewing a cup of tea.

As the pair of them sat, Neville's now clean face staring into the tea leaf dregs in the bottom of his cup, Harry made the decision to speak.

"I could pay it off, you know," he offered quietly.

Neville's eyes snapped up from his cup to meet Harry's. "No," he said firmly, and Harry could feel the steeliness of his words. "If anyone is paying anything, it'll be Hannah. I'm done with cleaning up her every mess."

Harry nodded, not breaking eye contact with Neville. "Good. You shouldn't have had to in the first place."

"Harry, I don't know what happened to her. It feels like everything's changed overnight."

Harry sighed and looked over Neville's tired form. "Listen, mate. I know it's rough at the moment, and it might get better, and it might not, but I've noticed Hannah's…" he trailed off, trying to think of the right word, "decline, over the past couple of months since you told me about the first bill. She's around so much alcohol, and consumes your profits for her own buzz. Her drunken antics have lost you a good few customers and they've brought in the type of crowd that've scared off others. She's not good for herself, especially right now. You've got to think about this carefully: is she any good for you?"

Neville looked up at him with wide eyes. Then, thinking about the question, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Finally, he said a quiet: "She used to be."

"Neville," said Harry quietly, bending down and placing his hands on Neville's shoulders. The other man's eyes opened to meet his. "Is she good for you, _right now_?"

There was a lengthy moment of silence.

"No."


End file.
